


34+35

by spideysmjs



Series: all thots, head full [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: College AU, F/M, Face-Sitting, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Mutual Masturbation, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a thot, Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: "You good?" she asks, a sly tone in her voice that makes the pit of his stomach bubble, a part of him hoping that, for as much as he hates his stupid, boy brain, maybe MJ is saying these things on purpose."Yeah," he nearly chokes."Was it something I said?"Peter has 99 problems, and his calculus exam is none of them.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: all thots, head full [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016446
Comments: 29
Kudos: 75
Collections: Peter Parker's Thotumn 2020





	34+35

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iovewords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iovewords/gifts).



> Thotumn Day 6: Face-Sitting.
> 
> Also, happy early birthday to @iovewords - I was v eager and couldn't wait to post!

The window’s home to hundreds of wet droplets chasing one another, thunder thrumming throughout the streets of the town, crashing every few minutes, moving further and further away from their small, two-bedroom off-campus university apartment. 

It’s the perfect weather to study, Peter delightfully undistracted as he zooms in on his calculus lectures, using this entire Sunday to jam an entire semester of knowledge for his final exam on Wednesday. He’s powered through with three cups of coffee within five hours – caffeine'd out with so much energy he could easily throw himself out the window and start looking for trouble. 

But, as he spoke with his calculus professor during their last meeting: he needs to pass this class to move forward in the advanced biochemistry major program. So, as a responsible young adult, he locks himself down on their shotty kitchen table to knock out three week’s worth of notes in one day, splitting the semester up into three days. 

It’s confirmation that he will get zero sleep in the next 72 hours, Peter begrudgingly dreading finals and what it turns him into. During freshman year, he hadn’t showered in between finals and late-night patrols to blow off stress. MJ ignored him for that entire week and greeted him happily on the train from Cambridge back to Queens. 

Since then, he’s promised her basic hygiene and eternal gratefulness in exchange for her dogging him to study and brewing hundreds of cups of strong coffee. 

He wonders when she’ll come home knowing that she’d left for the campus library earlier in the morning to work on a final group presentation. She left without an umbrella, and a part of him wants to procrastinate from his studies to pick her up from the library and walk her home nice and dry, and before anyone asks, it’s 100% a procrastination tactic and not an excuse to spend more time around his roommate.

The path to their roommate-ship was quickly decided. They weren’t close at Midtown Tech – Peter didn’t even know of her choice to attend Harvard. He’d just seen her on the first day of classes, in the cafe at the engineering side of campus. She greeted him, hairnet snug under her work hat, and a black apron tied carefully with coffee stains. 

She gave Peter his vanilla latte for free, a head nod, and a quick wink before he left for gen chem.

She texted him the same day, too. They’d hung out ever since.

Now they live together, and Peter is thinking about trekking through the storm, so he can place an umbrella above her head and daydream about holding her hand as they walk home. 

His phone rings. He grins, heart flying.

“Hey,” he answers.

“What’s for dinner, bug boy?” she asks, Peter listening to the ruffle of paper being shoved into a backpack: a tell that MJ’s had enough of her group project. 

Peter blinks, snapping out of his blissful happiness, realizing that she’s saying something he certainly needs to pay attention to. “What?” 

“I just figured,” she says, voice slightly muffled, “You know, it’s 8pm, and you probably haven’t eaten because you’re not good at keeping up with that, so… here’s a reminder.”

“Oh, right,” he says.

“Please not pizza for the third time in a week.”

“It’s a new week.”

“I’m begging,” she says. “I’ve gained my freshman fifteen and it hasn’t gone away yet, Peter.”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “You’re perfect, MJ. Um–do you want something warm? Pho?”

He hears a soft, playful scoff on the other line, his nerves rattling at how he’d just let that slip, wondering if his heart is trying to tell him he can’t handle keeping this secret crush to himself any longer. Then again, he's positive she knows his secret because this slip up isn't the first time it's happened since moving in together, and sometimes, MJ's not the one that's on the receiving end of it.

But roommates throw compliments around each other all of the time. This is how it works, both of them growing in comfort around each other, curating a relationship that only each other understands.

"It's like you read my mind, Parker." He can hear her boots squishing on the wet ground. "You call it in, I pick it up on my way back."

"I mean I can meet you there," he suggests, hand brushing against the back of his neck. "If you want. You know, for an umbrella."

"I know you couldn't be bothered to get out here in the rain."

"I don't mind."

He can almost hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Fine, dork. Get wet like me."

Peter's stupid, idiot's brain takes those two damn words runs with it. He licks his lips and says, "See you."

\--

"I told you it wasn't worth running in the rain," she shakes her hair, water dripping onto their welcome mat before they enter their apartment. She unlocks the door, holding it open as she declares, "Rest in peace to May's umbrella."

"To be fair, I didn't think it'd start hailing," he shrugs, his entire body shivering from getting attacked by ice. "I need to get out of these."

He chucks off his rain boots – the ones that MJ forced him to buy _just in case –_ and slides across the floor to the kitchen table, placing their takeout carefully before lifting his hoodie off. If his shirt clings onto the hoodie while he pulls it off, it's definitely not on purpose.

MJ's silence is telling, Peter turning around to smile at her as his shirt falls back down into place. She crinkles her nose and sniffles. He asks, "You're getting sick?"

"It was probably the running around in the thunderstorm in the middle of winter," she says.

"Hopefully this will help," he starts to unwrap the carefully tied plastic bags, pulling out the broth as its smell fills the room. "Pho cures everything."

"Okay, Dr. Parker," she teases.

He shakes his head. "Not yet. And not M.D."

"You could probably get one if you wanted to," she says. "Smarty pants."

"Stop," he says, thankful that the chilly air can cover up for the way he's uncontrollably blushing.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, Dr. Parker, _PhD_." His brain goes fuzzy as he glances away from her eyes, filling his plastic bowl of noodles up to the brim, almost letting the broth spill over until MJ points out, "The soup."

"Shit," he says, setting the broth down but not without a load landing onto his hands, the contrast of boiling broth and frozen hands making the pain increase.

"You good?" she asks, a sly tone in her voice that makes the pit of his stomach bubble, a part of him hoping that, for as much as he hates his stupid, boy brain, maybe MJ _is_ saying these things on purpose.

"Fine…”

"Almost burned yourself with the broth over there."

"Yeah," he nearly chokes.

"Was it something I said?"

"No, I just get overzealous with my broth," he quickly cuts her off, running to their kitchenette to wash off the remnants of broth in his hands.

"Sure, Pete," he hears MJ mumble under her breath from the table, his back facing her as he scrubs his hands away, not minding if his hands get wrinkly because his nerves are taking over and he'd rather have pruny fingers than say another stupid thing in front of her again.

He can't tell what she's trying to pull, attempting to ignore her little quips, knowing that this is just how MJ is – ever since high school – always offering one-liners that make everyone's heads turn. He remembers MJ in high school, stuck to the walls, and lingering in the background of parties with no attempt to be in the spotlight. He always saw her, never saying anything or attempting to get to know her, forever regretting the time he's lost with her, but filled with appreciation that at least now, he's blessed with the privilege of seeing her every morning.

Once he's washed his hands, he finds himself scooting into the chair across from her, apologizing for the mess of textbooks and papers scattered in between them.

They devour their soup in silence, Peter finding himself sneaking quick glances at her as she twists her chopsticks in the bowl. He tells himself it's creepy – that he should probably stop staring at his roommate and invading her personal bubble, but, sometimes, during the moments he finds himself peaking up at her, she'll be staring back. 

“What are you looking at, dork?” she interrupts his endless thoughts, heat rising on his cheeks knowing that even under the cheap, dim glow of their kitchen, she can see his face turn pink. 

“You have soup on your lips.”

“Maybe because I’m eating soup,” she flares dramatically, teasing him to a blush red look. Her eyes linger up and down. Is she checking him out? 

He blinks away the thought, never too confident in his assumptions — not wanting to look like an asshole for convincing himself that there’s an attraction there and too embarrassed of the million outcomes that end with MJ ghosting him forever because of it. 

She asks, “Are you still studying after this?”

“Yep.” He takes one big slurp of noodles in, the flavor sitting on his tongue as he swallows his meal. He meets her fixed gaze, suddenly feeling too nervous to continue to eat. “Gonna be a long night, no breaks.”

She stretches her arms, a small yawn escaping her lips. He watches the flex of her muscles and the way she looks cozy, tired, and soft. He wants to hug her, kiss her, and lay with her. “I’m gonna take a break. I feel tense. Need to work that out.”

He stares at her, helplessly open-mouthed. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She smirks at him for a beat. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Have fun,” he says, shaking his head as the words leave his lips. “Um. Yeah.”

_Nice, Pete._

“I can clean up,” he offers. 

“You’re the best,” MJ says, lifting herself up from the table, still bundling her finished meal in the plastic bag neatly, making the job easier for Peter. He keeps his eyes on her, watching the curve of her hips sway as she walks away to their shared bathroom. 

“Jeez,” he huffs out loud, noticing his legs have been shaking since he sat down. 

He feels his shoulders tense, considering taking a kind of _break_ that’ll get him to shake away the messy ideas creeping into his head, wondering if that’s the same _break_ MJ talked about earlier — her devilish grin engraved in his mind. 

After cleaning up, he stares down at the sprawled textbooks that are calling his name, hating that studying is the last thing on his mind. He could get away with a hard C if he just walked into the final, but he knows he’ll meet the worried gaze of his aunt during winter break once he announces his grades. 

He’s a genius and a superhero, but balancing both feels like riding a unicycle on a tightrope above an open flame. 

And then there’s MJ just one door away, distracting him in a way that makes him feel guilty. She’s all he’s thinking about — their shared glances and her quips that make him think _what if_ filling up his entire brain. There’s no more room for calculus in there: all thoughts, head full.

He groans in frustration. He’s absolutely useless. 

A buzzing creeps up in the back of his head. He spins around, senses spiking as he scans the empty living room. The buzzing stops. He hurries to the small window in their living room, hands sticking on the walls as he peeks out at nothing but the falling rain bouncing off the streets. _Huh_.

He makes his way back to his study space, only for the sound to return, matched with a rapid heart rate and — is that _MJ?_ Peter chokes on his own spit, plotting himself down on the chair and grabbing his headphones, popping them on before he inadvertently invades her privacy. 

But listening to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas” on full volume does not aid in blocking the noises that are coming from their bathroom, Peter’s brain shifting focus from the music to the sound of MJ’s voice, almost as if he doesn’t have a choice but to hear her deep breaths and small whimpers.

Surely, MJ knows he can hear her. Even before acknowledging his super-hearing, they’d been aware of the thin walls of their apartment, both of them dancing around each other silently when it came to stuff like… this. She’s never done this before, not with him in the apartment. His heart is racing as he shuts off the song mid-chorus, hands curled on the edge of his seat as his focus turns to MJ, slowly then all at once. 

He shuts his eyes, embarrassed but helplessly imagining the way her hands are roaming the curve of her skin right now as the shower waterfalls against her body. He feels his own breathing hitch, the sensation between his legs making him twitch, knuckles whitening from the increasing, strong grip on the seat.

Any attempt to study has gone out the door as one hand travels to his inner thigh, rubbing against the fabric of his sweats, feeling himself as MJ’s moans grow louder. His entire body feels hot, both from attraction and shame from his actions, knowing that his conscience is sending red alerts to _stop_ but she’s now seemingly increased the rhythm of the vibrations and her breathing becomes rapid. 

Peter feels like he doesn’t remember _how_ to breathe. 

What is she doing to him? Is it on purpose? Or is he just some horny idiot that’s growing in arousal at the sound of his best friend in the middle of an act he’s almost positive isn’t meant to be heard. He stops himself from shoving his hands beneath the waistband of his sweats, guilt growing from the bottom of his stomach and spreading throughout his body, despite his full erection begging for touch. 

Cracking his knuckles, he takes a deep breath, releasing the tension as he attempts to place his mind somewhere else: How’s his progress on studying an entire semester in three days? When he comes back to Queens, will he and May attempt to make dinner or have takeout for the next three weeks? Will he find time to hang out with Ned? Is MJ moaning his name?

MJ’s moaning his name! He pushes himself out of the chair, almost falling backward with only his super-agility to thank for not banging his head on the floor. 

_“Please,”_ he hears. He starts pacing in circles in their living room and kitchenette, curiosity driving him up the wall as he makes his way to the ceiling, walking against that surface wishing there was more places to get to in their little apartment. _“Peter.”_

She’s almost yelping, and even without his hearing, Peter would be able to witness the show and imagine the way her eyes are rolling at the back of her head, wishing that his face was planted between her legs, being the _real_ reason for her pleasure. 

He gets off the ceiling, running into his room and shutting the door – completely ignoring the mess of textbooks he’d left in the other room as he crawls under his blankets and shamelessly begins to rub at himself as MJ nears her climax. He’d been aching for a touch already, pumping desperately up and down with his eyes shut and lips smacked, thinking about the way she’d dropped jokes over the phone and when they got home, and now she’d unknowingly put on a show for him. 

Peter’s been aroused since she called him, the sound of her voice always sending shivers down his spine. Being around MJ – in a space they called _their own_ – seeing her every day in a way no one else has seen before has built up to this very moment. He can’t help himself any longer, pushing himself over the edge just shortly after he listens to the crack in MJ’s voice as his name escapes her lips once more while her heartbeat fastens. 

His hand, along with his stupid brain, is a sticky mess that needs to be cleaned up.

He lays still for five minutes, letting the heaviness in his chest become lighter and his breathing steady as he waits for MJ to walk out of the shower and into her room. One more exhale and he gets up, divesting himself of his shirt, using it to wipe his hands clean before heading to the bathroom to wash away his shame. But of course, as he swings the door open with one hand and his shirt bundled in the other, messy hand, he meets gazes with MJ.

MJ, who’s wrapped in a single towel. 

MJ, who still has droplets of water dripping down to her collarbones.

MJ, who Peter can’t keep his eyes away from as he blatantly scans her entire body.

Her eyes are wide and mouth gaped open in a slight ‘o’, both of them staring at each other as no words come out of them.

“I just was go–”

“Do you have lo–”

They both say, laughing as they shake off the awkward tension. Peter says, “You first.”

“I was going to ask if you have lotion.”

“Oh,” he says. “I–uh–yeah. I have lotion. It’s plain… it probably doesn’t smell as pretty as yours.”

She snorts, holding in a smile as she says, “Can I grab it?” 

Her body moves side to side, silently asking for Peter to move over. As he shifts his body sideways, she sneaks into his room while he says, “It’s on my side table.”

“Cool,” she says, Peter hoping she doesn’t notice the damp, hot air of his room or the way his sheets are spread messily on his mattress. He pats his hair down knowing he’d buried his head against the pillows as he came earlier, completely aware he’s looking more disheveled than ever. “So you took… A break, then?”

“Uh, I just. Power napped.”

“Gonna shower?”

“What?”

She chuckles. “I mean, you don’t usually parade around with your shirt off.”

This is his moment, to toss in a comment that will make her tremble, having the upperhand of knowledge that she was saying _his_ name and thinking of _him_ as she came earlier. He turns around, facing her as she heads to the doorway with the bottle of lotion in hand. With faux confidence and strong curiosity for her reaction, Peter asks, “You like what you see?” 

She rolls her eyes, moving past him and back into the hallway. She swings her body to face his, moving closer to him so that they’re less than a foot apart. MJ says, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He laughs, a nervous breath escaping his lips as he shakes his head. “What are you doing, MJ?”

Her shoulders bounce once, shrugging. “Borrowing lotion.”

Then, she’s off, walking away and leaving Peter to gawk at her legs as she walks into the room. Before she shuts the door she says, “I’ll be out to study with you soon.”

Peter leaves himself there, standing confused and aroused again already, cursing his stamina for letting him reenergize as quickly as he does, not having struggled with these urges since high school. When he reaches the bathroom, he furiously scrubs his hands from the filth of his actions, followed by washing his face and clearing his mind of the images of MJ he created in his head, letting himself mentally prepare for a long night ahead of himself. 

_Pass the class_ , he repeats in his head as he rinses his face.

“Peter!” he heart skips a beat. He can never hear his name from her mouth in the same way, not when he’s heard it as she orgasmed. How dare he call her name so casually, after what he’s listened to? After what she’s _made_ him listen to? 

“Yeah?” he calls out, almost choking.

“You want coffee? I know we’ll be up all night.”

“Okay,” he calls out. Studying. Up all night, studying. That’s it. Nothing more. He’s had his shameful fun, and he’s ready to focus on math. Numbers all night long. Nothing else, and definitely not anything involving MJ. 

He wipes his face with a towel, then looks at the shirt he’d thrown on the floor: evidence of his secret endeavor with himself, and how easily he’d caved into her breathless whispers, the ones that sounded like a begging call in Peter’s ears because of his powers. 

If MJ keeps up whatever she’s been trying, Peter knows for a fact he’ll be battling his own dirty thoughts through sunrise. 

\--

Three hours and two cups of coffee pass before anything happens, though Peter’s been staring at MJ stretching her arms in the air every few minutes, yawning in a tank top that hugs her body despite their heater being off, and the rain still furiously hitting the ground. 

It’s half past two, Peter barely keeping still from the caffeine rush, feels a touch of a foot against his, swaying gently up and down. He keeps his head down, peeking carefully at MJ, whose head is resting on her chin as she faces her laptop. Her hair has fallen messily from her previously tight bun, baby hairs curling at the edges of her face.

Her foot moves up against the fabric of his sweats, Peter feeling the twitch in his crotch as she continues. He gulps, eyes still buried in his practice book, trying to scribble the steps to a complicated function. In all attempts to steady his breathing, the grip on his mechanical pencil tightens until the writing utensil snaps in half, the top part flying across the room. 

They finally meet gazes. MJ’s look is intense, something in the way she purses her lips makes Peter finally crack, no longer dancing around her actions with questions of curiosity, but instead getting up from his chair and approaching her. She lets go of her mouse, hands flat on her thighs as he makes his way behind her, both his hands placed gently on her shoulders. He starts kneading them softly, her back rolling and breath hitching. 

“How’s your…studying?” he asks, staring at the blank Google document and three different social media tabs hidden.

“Fine,” she says, a thick swallow following. “Yours?”

“Kind of stuck on one problem,” he says, smacking his lips as he continues to massage her, unable to calm down from the initial touch of her skin, wanting to move his hands everywhere, to carry her to his bedroom and show her what she’s been asking to see. 

“What is it?” she relaxes to his touch, letting her head fall down, the noises escaping her mouth bringing a different kind of arousal to Peter—one that makes him crave this response from her as much as he can in one night. 

He watches as she crosses her legs, licking his lips as he answers, “I have a couple of theories that need proof.” 

“Oh?” she says, Peter stopping his thumbs and letting go of her shoulders, pleased to see MJ chase after his fingers. 

“Yup.” 

“I’m sure you have all the proof you need, Parker.”

“Yeah?” he leans forward, pressing his mouth against her neck as he says, “Can I run a sample problem? Plug some numbers in?”

“Peter,” she says, half laughing and half sighing. “Dork.”

He’s cautious, moving her hair aside before he licks a stripe against the nape of her neck, feeling MJ’s body shiver. “ _Peter_.”

“Sounds familiar,” he whispers, hands starting to roam down her arms, but she stands up, turning to face him, lips inches apart. He feels like time has paused, looking down at her toothless smile. 

She raises her eyebrow. “Were you eavesdropping on me?”

“Nope,” he answers truthfully. “Could just hear how loud you were.”

MJ presses her body against his lips moving to his earlobe to nibble on its skin, whispering, “I heard you too.”

He gulps, losing balance until his palm is pressed against the curve of her ass. “Do you—um—do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?”

She continues to kiss him along the neck, Peter’s mouth aching for hers. “Think about… me.”

“All the time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, nervous as her lips trail away from his body. 

She jerks back, scoffing. “I mean, it’s kind of obvious.” 

“What?”

“Peter, I’ve liked you since high school,” she confesses, biting down her lip from what looks like nerves despite her body moving into his once again, like touch is the only way she can communicate thoroughly. 

Peter blinks at her. “You did?” 

A part of him celebrates: the area of his brain that hasn’t stopped thinking about MJ since they found each other at the coffee shop on the first day of their freshmen year. Another part is guilty: the one buried beneath the rubble of his messy beginnings as Spider-Man, never having been able to care for anything else other than his career as a superhero vigilante and–apparently–too distracted to notice that a beautiful, intelligent girl had always been looking at him from the sidelines. 

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I never had any luck in high school when it came to getting close to people… which is why I didn’t stop myself from messaging you when I saw you on campus. It was embarrassing how happy I was to see you. How happy I am to see you now. Every day.”

“ _MJ_ ,” he softens, smiling. A beat passes over them. She curls the corner of her lip as he says his name in a way that declares what they can be, after being in each other’s arms at 3am, tired from studying and interested in how each other’s lips taste like. He pushes a piece of her hair behind her ear as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Somehow, their desperation for speedy touches transformed into a desire to kiss sweetly and slowly, Peter’s tongue slipping in her mouth like it’s meant to be there – like all the teasing hints and suggestive touches all melted into a puddle of more than a physical want. They’re kissing, and MJ wraps her arms around Peter’s neck as he squeezes her ass. As he does, she hooks a leg upward and around him, one of his hands moving to the bottom of her thigh to keep her steady, holding onto her like if he’d lose just an ounce of grasp, she’d slip away. 

But she’s here, in his arms, now wrapping her other leg around his waist so that he can lift her as their tongues continue to dance. He feels her nose brush against his, any feeling of her making his heart flutter. 

These touches are no longer quick brushes against one another, or a foot schemingly rising up his leg, but an entire embrace of emotions that the two of them have built on their own. Now, together, Peter brings her to his bedroom as she works his neck, wanting to show MJ just how much he’d been wanting this to happen. 

Peter lays her down gently, MJ already shimmying out of her sweatpants and tossing them to the ground, her legs spread and ready for him, an impatient look on her face as she lures him closer with a curl of her finger calling him. He finds himself hovering over her, smiling into their next kiss, feeling a grin spread on her face, too. 

He can stay here, with her, for hours. The sun can rise and set again, and he wouldn’t mind. Any determination to ace his class had disappeared hours ago. He simply can’t focus on anything else, too engulfed by MJ’s aura – her soft skin, her wet mouth, her beating heart – to think about anything else other than her. 

Quickly, he turns them over, moving her on top of him as her hips react immediately with grinding against his crotch, sliding up and down against the piece of fabric blocking her from his dick. She mewls his name again, the same way he’d overheard her in the bathroom, except this time, it is because of his movements. 

Anything he’d ever imagined did not live up to the reality of watching MJ work her hips for friction, letting herself steal the pleasure that Peter’s so willingly providing as she touches herself all over, her hands flattening against her stomach, traveling up her body and squeezing her breasts. All he can do is keep her steady with his hands formed around her hips, eyes glued to the way she moves. He gulps as he bucks upward, helping her feel him more, helping her notice how hard she’s made him and how much he wants her. 

The only other thing he can imagine – throat drying up as he pictures it – is how her hips would move if she was riding his mouth. How would she move if his tongue was working against her center? How would she moan if he tongued at her, holding her hips steady? 

“Sit on my face,” he says, nothing more clever coming out. 

She sits straight, still slowly grinding against him as she asks, “What’d you say?”

“Sit on my face,” he repeats, smiling. “Please.”

“Wha–”

“You just look so fucking good moving your hips on me, I wanted to know what it was like to taste you while you moved like that.”

“Peter,” she says, lifting herself from her previous spot so she can pull off her lace underwear. 

“You smell so good already,” he states, not wanting to beat around the bush. “I bet you’d taste even better. If you’ll let me.”

“Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” 

“I just want to make you feel good,” he pouts. “You deserve it all.”

“I don’t want to lose balance on anything,” she says, a hint of doubt in her voice as she crawls up to him, one leg moving to the other side of Peter’s neck, still hovering and not yet placing herself on the spot where Peter wants her most. 

“I got you, Em. Always,” he smiles as she makes her way to his mouth, landing softly against his lips as she feels his hands hook tighter on her ass. He hears her take a deep breath, her pubic bone brushing against his nose as she starts swaying her hips in the same way she had been against his crotch. This time, he lets his tongue explore her center, working her in places that make her yelp louder, finding the areas that make her shiver or gasp for air. 

He can’t help but moan into her, one hand leaving her ass and moving beneath his waistband to touch himself as he feels her arousal drip along his cheeks, her unwavering wetness only making him more desperate to pump himself. He channels his strength to keep one hand assisting MJ with her balance, so turned on by her cursing beneath her breath that he could come without even being inside her. 

Her taste is divine. His body seeks more pleasure. The luck of her touch radiates throughout his body, both of them connecting as they’ve never connected before. He feels a surge in his heart and brain as he strokes himself desperately searching for release. 

This is unreal, a dream that he’s been creating for himself for months. And yet, he’s here, privileged with the opportunity to not only hear the music escaping her lips but also the ability to orchestrate the rhythm in her hips and the harmony in her moans. Peter’s tongue makes circles at the bundle of nerves at her heat, his body feeling the sensations running all over his skin as he brings her to climax, MJ keening forward, panting, and looking for balance by squeezing the edge of his headboard while she comes. He’d taken his hand away from himself, putting it back on her hips as she rides out her orgasm.

MJ’s weight shifts away from his face as collapses next to him. Peter breathes heavily next to her, still desperate for her taste as he wipes her wetness from the corner of his lips and licks his hand for taste. She watches him, eyes surprised at his notion. 

“I love the way you taste,” he says, watching her chest rise up and down, breathless. “I hope you’ll let me taste you again.”

One of her arms sprawls across his chest, one leg on top of his still-hard crotch – a feeling Peter had nearly forgotten after witnessing MJ come. She lets her leg brush up and down, a suggestive breath against his cheek making him twitch. 

She asks, “How’s that for proving your theories?”

He chuckles, kissing her on the forehead as he says, “I think I’m ready to pass my final, all thanks to you.”

“I’m happy I could help you study,” she says, waiting for a beat before continuing, “but I think you just have one more question to answer before you walk into that exam.”

Peter’s eyes move to meet hers, squinting in curiosity as he waits for her to speak again.

“What’s 34+35?”

He rolls his eyes playfully, MJ lifting herself up again, turning her body around so they can find out the answer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments much appreciated. 
> 
> Keep that spirit of Thotumn going, friends, we're almost done.


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